can you be my lady?
by hopelessromantic0707
Summary: Beckett showing up at his door in a barely-there grey slip dress, asking if he wants to have fun with her tonight is something he can't refuse, even though he knows she's just trying to forget this day, escape its reprecussions.


Title: can you be my lady?

Spoilers: Tiny mention of a moment in _Knockdown_; otherwise, you're good.

Disclaimer: Don't own Castle or any of the songs referenced in this story.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Beckett showing up at his door in a barely-there grey slip dress, asking if he wants to have fun with her tonight is something he can't refuse, even though he knows she's just trying to forget this day, escape its reprecussions.

Author's Note: This is my (less-than stellar, I'm sure) attempt at joining the 'drunk club sex fic' club over on LJ. Many awesome people have come before me and *crosses fingers* many will follow. Smut writing is not my thing, so the sexing is kinda light; but it works. Enjoy!

* * *

He should not be here. Any self-respecting 40 year old, particularly one with a teenage daughter, should be at home, in a favorite armchair, reading Dickens at 4am on a Wednesday (he can't help thinking maybe that's just him; he makes a mental note to get the two of them some literature on insomnia at the earliest possible opportunity).

Right now, though, his attention is completely occupied; there's no room for anything else.

Beckett's standing next to him at the bar, hips swaying to the beat as Sam Adams asks if a girl can be his lady and says she's driving him crazy; he finds himself relating to the sentiment.

"You ok there, Castle?" Her words are running together; not excessively, but he can tell she's well on her way to being 'very drunk indeed'. That is tonight's goal after all.

[Beckett showing up at his door in a barely-there grey slip dress, asking if he wants to have fun with her tonight is something he can't refuse, even though he knows she's just trying to forget this day, escape its reprecussions. His suspicions are confirmed in the cab when she tells him not to take her home until she's very drunk indeed. Under the _Breakfast at Tiffany's _reference, there's something deeper, something she's keeping to herself, away from him.]

"Was just thinking: it's an absolutely travesty that Annie Lennox let this kid turn the melody for 'Walking on Broken Glass' into cheap, commercialized club music," he deflects quickly, not wanting to let on what's really on his mind. That would only make her lash out at him and he needs to make sure she ends this night in one piece.

She laughs (it's more of a giggle, and he's not sure how to take a giggling Beckett). "Lighten up, old man. This is supposed to be fun."

The bartender hands her a Jell-O shot and a cosmo (really?) and she nods her thanks before turning to face him, extending the lumpy red mass in its tiny cup in his direction.

"I haven't done one of these since I was a freshman in college." Her arms cross over her chest, her look telling him that he's ruining her fun.

He breathes a sigh, picks up the cup, clinks it against hers.

"To near-death experiences. Everybody needs to have at least one. They're super fun." Following this impromptu speech, she lifts the pink liquid to her lips, downing half in one gulp.

His eyes follow her movement with concern.

"Beckett..."

"Let's dance." She cuts him off, swallowing the rest of her drink, shaking her head as the alcohol hits her.

Before he can get an answer out, they're on the dance floor, Beckett moving expertly in front of him.

It's an odd sensation, doing this with her; he thinks she might be using him but can't bring himself to ask.

She twirls in his arms, back now against his chest, fingers twining with his, taking him everywhere she goes. Her arms snake above her head; the wince that accompanies this clouds her face for only a second, though it's not lost on him.

A new song must've started, he can hear her singing along to the chorus: something about a guy catching a grenade.

He feels her hands shift as she faces him again. There's a tense moment of indecision, gazes connecting, a silent question asked and answered.

Then there's only her, and him, and her tongue is sliding into his mouth, doing things that've only happened once before, and not like this.

He pulls away just as she deepens the kiss; a noise escapes her, a whine, as if she wants more, is missing the feel of his lips against hers.

"Not that I wasn't enjoying that because, believe me, I was," he breathes, "but I need to know what I'm dealing with here. Are we talking one-time thing, friends with benefits, established relationship, what?"

"You're dealing with me narrowly missing having my chest blown out by a .38. I've almost died before, but today...it just seemed different." Tears spring to her eyes; she swipes them away angrily, continuing, "I don't want to put things off anymore, that's all. Don't exactly know how to classify that, Castle. Sorry if I offended your sensibilities."

Turning on her heel, she storms off, making it about three feet before she collides with someone and stumbles.

He's in front of her in an instant, hands trailing in her hair, on her face, down her body. He kisses her, soft and slow, an apology. "Kate..."

"Don't ruin it again, Rick."

* * *

He holds the bathroom door open for her and she squeezes past him, ducking her head as she steps out into the hallway leading back to the club.

Thank God there wasn't a line; what just transpired in that bathroom hadn't needed an audience, not to mention the likelihood of being arrested for public indecency- was that the term? He'd ask her, but she'd shoot him- would've been extremely high.

He grabs her hand, squeezes tightly, and brushes glitter off his shirt (she wore glitter?). "That was amazing."

"For a novelist, your vocabulary when it comes to our sexual escapes is extremely limited, you know that?" Her tone is serious, but the side of her mouth is lifted slightly, giving her away.

"Well, my brain cells are a bit scrambled after we engage in those kinds of activities. Amazing is the only adjective that comes to mind. I'll be sure to come up with a list for next time."

There's a nod. "You do that." She bites her thumbnail. "I was a gymnast in high school, by the way."

His head whips around so he can look at her. "How...?"

"You're an open book."

In lieu of a response, he starts humming, just to annoy her.

"That going to be your theme song now or something?" The look she's giving him is almost identical to her expression a couple weeks ago, in the back of an ambulance, as she'd asked him about Ryan and Esposito's recovery rate. It's adorable, but he doesn't see what she's getting at.

Rolling her eyes, she finally gives him a hint. "Baby, you've been drivin' me crazy..."

"Shit."


End file.
